


You'll Never Know

by kaijuvenom



Series: The Memory of a Rose [2]
Category: Downton Abbey, Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: Additional Characters to be added, M/M, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Reunions, Thomas deserves better, all my homies hate richard, and it is NOT the guy he got in the movie, and who else do we have?? mustache guy?? no gross, anyway all this to say, he has a mustache, i make thomas barrow happy now, if only they didn't have the same first name., jimmy kent??? no fuck him i hate him, like im happy for him and all but i didnt like that guy, makes it hard to write, move over julian fellowes ive got this one ok, oh also the crowley/aziraphale is onesided and aziraphale is unimportant, richard??? was his name richard??? fuck richard, the army guy from season one?? edward?? i mean yeah but. uh. hes dead. so., tom branson? would be perfect
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-02
Updated: 2020-11-20
Packaged: 2021-03-07 23:21:21
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 3,171
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26765701
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kaijuvenom/pseuds/kaijuvenom
Summary: Several years after Crowley's mysterious and abrupt disappearance, Thomas spots him in town, and isn't sure how to feel about it.
Relationships: Aziraphale/Crowley (Good Omens), Thomas Barrow/Crowley (Good Omens)
Series: The Memory of a Rose [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1526291
Comments: 1
Kudos: 12





	1. We'll Meet Again

**Author's Note:**

> Anachronisms dont exist except for how this takes place in the 30’s and (if im not mistaken, i havent watched good omens in a few months) aziraphale saying ‘you go too fast for me, crowley’ happens in the sixties but WhAtEvEr. oh also since i fucked up the gomens timeline i fucked up the downton abbey timeline too. no one is safe. downton abbey writers didnt care about their own timeline. they called constantinople istanbul before constantinople was istanbul. it was 1912. it became istanbul in 1930. fools. thats unimportant in the grand scheme of things when i am picking historical and fictional elements and smooshing them together and mixing them around in a soup of anachronisms but stiLL,,

There was a moment in time, an absence in time, maybe the illusion of time passing when in reality it had frozen in place and only the clocks kept ticking to save face, which occurred during the beginning of the third decade of the twentieth century. This odd hole in time wasn’t noticed by many, as they found all sorts of slow activities to pass the time, but Crowley noticed it. Perhaps Crowley had created it inadvertently, perhaps it was only in his mind all along, but whatever it was, it prevented him from witnessing the exquisite new traditions that were being invented during that time (as well as some of the far less exquisite ones). Instead, he seemed to only stay in one solitary place, wondering if perhaps time would be frozen forever and he’d been stuck in a haze of vague sleep and deciding he wouldn’t mind if he was. Sometimes, the passage of time was just like that, when you were an ageless immortal being, but this time it had been brought on not by the drudgery of eternal existence, and instead by the crushing hopelessness of being completely unable to help those he wanted to. 

It was unfortunate, the way Heaven and Hell worked, and honestly, that was all Crowley had to say on the matter. What he wouldn’t give to become a human, with a life of chaos and unpredictability, with risk and sin following him around every corner, heartbreak and love filling his life until he died at an absurdly young age of a highly preventable disease, if only he’d washed his hands more--

But most importantly, the time. Time was so much more precious when there wasn’t an infinite amount of it. Crowley had never treasured a day before, treasured a memory, never wished to freeze time, and live in one moment forever, not until he’d met Thomas. It was the oddest thing, to covet something so omnipresent as time. It made him feel so powerless, so human, so unbelievably happy. Worrying about mundane things, having silly arguments, working as a nanny and getting paid money for it so you can worry about paying your rent next week, and _God,_ the touch of another person, that was truly what he really missed. It wasn’t the same as being immortal, it was special, unique, every touch from Thomas, every kiss and hidden hands holding each other undercoats and in abandoned alleyways, arms wrapped around each other in the dim light of a hotel room, every one of them was so much more special when you were human. When you could appreciate it, make the most of it, because it may very well be the last one you ever get. It could all end at any moment.

And, Crowley supposed, it had. He had been snatched away by Hell far too soon to enjoy his life with Thomas, and so perhaps in a way, he’d had the most human experience of all. 

The small towns and large cities and green hills of England seemed faded without his presence, Crowley couldn’t help but think of him wherever he went, no matter how much he wished not to. 

It was no one else’s fault but his own that he ended up back in Yorkshire, that he ended up less than a ten minutes’ walk away from Downton. It was his foolish sentimentality. 

Aziraphale insisted he had no respect for the passage of time, no appreciation for what once was, _you move too fast for me, Crowley_ , he said.

It was nearly impossible for Crowley not to respond to that little comment with _it’s been six thousand years, angel, and I can’t wait for you forever_. 

Crowley was beginning to notice time. 

He still didn’t like it, mind you, and especially not know that he was consciously aware of it.

It hadn’t been that long, really, since he’d seen Thomas. It hadn’t even been a decade, just six years, but seeing him, watching him from afar, being oh-so-careful Thomas wouldn’t spot him, it made Crowley feel like it had been centuries. He barely even recognized him; he looked so happy. Not that Crowley had expected him to wallow in grief over him for six years (he’d hoped he’d gotten at least a couple months of wallowing though, but that was just his ego talking), it was only that he’d never seen Thomas smile that much. He wondered, briefly, if it was because there was someone new in his life. A twinge of jealousy pushed into his mind at that, and he pushed it away as abruptly as it had appeared. If there was, he would deserve it. There wasn’t anything Crowley wanted more than to see him at peace, accepting himself and finding others like him, finally. At least, that was what he tried to convince himself was how he felt when he watched Thomas, for what seemed like the hundredth time, pull some sort of silver necklace out of his front pocket, stare at it, running his thumb across it almost worshipfully, and then hastily stow it away again whenever someone approached. 

This was weird. Even by demon standards, this was weird. Crowley had only been in Yorkshire for a few days at most, and he’d spent most of it watching Thomas. Stalking him, more like. He made the executive decision to, once he was alone, approach Thomas and try to get the whole thing sorted out, make up some lie about what had happened to him, and beg forgiveness. And then… what? Vanish again? It wasn’t like he’d be able to stay. 

“What _are_ you doing, dear boy?” 

The sudden voice--and a horribly familiar one at that--made Crowley jump so hard he caught the attention of Thomas, who had just come out from the shop across the street, although Crowley hadn’t noticed it, because he’d spun around the instant he’d heard Aziraphale’s voice, mouth opening in shock as he fumbled for the words to say.

“Aziraphale? What the hell--heaven--are you doing here?”

“Making sure _you_ aren’t getting up to any trouble.”

He smoothed out his suit jacket, looking at Crowley with one eyebrow arched, as if to say, _well? Care to explain why you were stalking that poor man?_

“Yes, well, I’m not, so if you’d kindly-” he made a vague _skedaddle_ gesture with his hand, before looking behind him, he’d intended to only briefly glance over to make sure Thomas was still in the shop. Instead, he paused, staring at Thomas, who was now standing outside, across the street, staring right back at him. 

“Crowley?” Aziraphale prompted after Crowley had been silent for several long seconds. He didn’t respond. Aziraphale leaned sideways, straining to see whatever it was Crowley suddenly found so fascinating. “My dear, do you two know each other?” He asked, rather unnecessarily, considering how long they’d been staring at each other in silence. 

“I…” Crowley trailed off, swallowing, even though he really had no need to swallow. It was simply something he’d seen humans do when they were nervous, and he’d picked up the habit somewhere along the way. “I need to go, Aziraphale.” And then he was walking across the street, Aziraphale struggling to keep up with his long strides, and, of course, finding it necessary to stop for cars and carriages whereas Crowley simply strode across the street without a care in the world and expected others to stop for him.

“I beg your pardon? Crowley? Crowley, wait, where the devil are you going?”

Crowley ignored him.

“I think your friend is trying to talk to you,” was the first thing Thomas said to him, raising his eyebrows as Aziraphale caught up to them, awkwardly standing behind them. 

“Crowley!” Aziraphale, king of interrupting at the most inopportune moments, grabbed Crowley’s arm, _hard_ , and tugged him, turning him to face him. “I need to speak with you,” he said, and he all but dragged Crowley away with a surprising amount of strength, leading him down the small alley behind the shop Thomas had just been inside of, leaving Thomas standing in the doorway, opening his mouth and then closing it again, wondering what the hell had just happened. 

He heard the blonde-haired man say something in a raised voice, but he couldn’t make out the words, so he quietly snuck closer, leaning against the wall as he strained to hear what they were talking about. 

“I mean for Heaven’s sake, Crowley, you can’t just walk up to a--” the blonde-haired man hesitated as if Crowley had shushed him, “--walk up to a _person_ ,” he said, and he said the word with so much emphasis that Thomas wondered if it meant something different than what he was under the impression it did.

“--How do you even know each other? You know you shouldn’t allow yourself to get attached! What if he were to find out that you’re--”

Again, the man stopped, and this time Thomas heard a desperate _sshhh_ that sounded less human and more snakelike, but he chose not to dwell on that. Did this man know Crowley was gay? Was that what this was about? Who _was_ he, though? And why was he so concerned for Crowley’s wellbeing? Thomas sifted through his memory, replaying conversations he’d had with Crowley while they’d been together, and he couldn’t remember Crowley ever speaking of anyone who knew he was gay. And if this man _did_ know, why would he not know about Thomas? Surely, Crowley would have told him that if they knew each other that well. This whole thing was making his headache, and the headache was only worsened by the ever-present question of _what the hell had happened to Crowley six years ago?_ Where had he gone, what had he been doing?

Thomas had decided, several years ago, in fact, that he must’ve been killed by a mob that had found out about who he was. That had never been concrete because a body was never found, and Thomas had done quite a bit of digging into some of the most suspicious people around the area and had come up empty. None of them even knew or had ever seen Crowley somehow, the man had been a ghost outside of Downton. 

He remembered when Marigold had come to him sobbing, a crumpled bundle of flowers in her hands, tugging on his sleeve and begging him to come out to the gardens and look for Crowley, saying he’d disappeared. Thomas had looked, and looked, and looked some more, but with no luck. It was like the ground had opened up and swallowed him whole.

And then spat him back out six years later, apparently. 

If only he knew how right that ludicrous notion was. 

The blond man had continued lecturing Crowley while Thomas had been thinking, and he realized he’d missed most of it, but now the man was saying something about the Almighty and being punished or something, and it was nothing Thomas had never heard before in regards to his sexuality, so he didn’t pay it too much attention (even though he probably should have). 

“I get it, angel, alright?” Crowley suddenly snapped, interrupting the other man’s lecture, making Thomas jump. _Angel?_ He wondered, frowning to himself. That only added to his confusion. And a little bit of jealousy that he promptly ignored. “You think I don’t know? I don’t _care_ , angel. And I don’t see how it’s any of your business what I do or don’t do, I haven’t seen you in _years_ and you just show up to tell me what to do?”

“Crowley, I- I didn’t mean to say, that is, what I was trying to-”

“Leave it alone, Aziraphale. Leave it alone, and leave me alone.”

Thomas didn’t hear footsteps leaving, but there must’ve been, because when he peeked around the corner, Crowley was alone again. 

“Crowley?” Thomas asked, stepping out from his (incredibly undercover and very welling hidden) place of ducking slightly out of sight around the corner. “It really is you?” Obviously, he knew it was him, but what else was there to say?

“Thomas.”

For a moment they stared at each other before Thomas decided he may as well let the bitterness wash all the way through him. “I should be flattered you remembered my name.”

“Thomas, I--” It was at that point Crowley realized he had no clue what to say. He really should have planned for this. “Thomas,” he finally said, his voice cracking, hoping that simply saying his name would convey all the emotions that were currently bubbling up inside his chest, threatening to spill out. 

“Glad we were able to clear that up,” Thomas said sharply, and abruptly looked down at the ground, then back up at Crowley, before storming off, down the alleyway and back onto the main road, picking up speed back to the abbey as he heard Crowley call after him. 


	2. Don’t Know Where, Don’t Know When

It wasn’t hard to find Thomas after he’d vanished again, although Crowley waited until he was certain Thomas would be either in bed or the sole person still awake, probably drinking tea alone in the kitchen.

And he was in the kitchen, when Crowley snuck in through the servant’s entrance in the back, he spotted a light in the kitchen and headed towards it, stopping in the hallway when he heard a soft voice, then the scrape of a wood chair against the floor followed by footsteps getting closer. He didn’t have the time or thought to move somewhere he wouldn’t be seen, so when Miss Baxter entered the hallway, she jumped, a hand going to her chest as she gasped. 

Crowley opened his mouth to apologize, he’d always liked her, but she lowered her hand from her chest and shook her head, leaning back to glance around the kitchen door frame. 

“Thomas, you have a visitor,” she said softly, before giving Crowley a small smile and moving past him down the hall. Her footsteps faded out of earshot after a few long seconds and Crowley sighed, stepping into the doorway of the kitchen. He looked over at the table and spotted him, sitting at the table, smoking a cigarette. His hands were shaking lightly, and the way he looked up at Crowley… well, it reminded him.

“You’ll get lung cancer,” he said quietly, gesturing to the cigarette, watching as the ghost of a smile appeared on Thomas’ face. 

“I still haven’t wrapped my head around how you knew what lung cancer was five years before anyone else,” Thomas responded, putting it out on the ashtray next to him. 

“Would you believe me if I said I was a shapeshifting, immortal, all-knowing demon with an inability to act appropriately for the era?” Crowley asked, hesitantly moving a few steps closer to Thomas. 

The lack of a smile at that statement mildly concerned Crowley, but he brushed it away, chalking it up to the awkwardness in the air. “The day after you vanished, I looked everywhere for you,” Thomas said quietly. 

“I’m flattered.”

Thomas gave him a pointed look. “I mean  _ everywhere _ ,” he said, as if he were waiting for Crowley to take his meaning. He didn’t. 

“That bar you always took me to, the German one, it was gone the next day when I looked for you. No mention of it being cleared out in the papers, I asked around and no one knew what I was talking about.”

Crowley swallowed, unsure how he would get himself out of this one. Perhaps Aziraphale had been right about getting involved with humans.

“Then I had the opportunity to meet a man from Berlin. He was fleeing Germany, a few months before the war began, and wouldn’t you know it,  _ he  _ knew what bar I was talking about when I mentioned the name. The funniest thing was that he insisted it was in Berlin. Now isn't that odd? He’d never even been to England, so how could he  _ possibly  _ know about a bar in Yorkshire that mysteriously vanished the same day you did?”

“I don’t know,” Crowley managed to say, looking down at his shoes. “Did you ask him?”

“I’m asking you.” 

Crowley swallowed. “I don’t have an answer.”

“You don’t have one or you don’t have one you want to give me?” Thomas asked.

“Does it matter?”

Thomas was silent for a moment and Crowley held his breath. It was more metaphorical, technically, Crowley was always holding his breath. He didn’t need to breathe, after all. 

“All that matters, I suppose, is whether or not you  _ meant  _ to leave me. Was it your choice?”

Well, that was a much different question. One that Crowley felt much more content with answering. “No. It wasn’t.”

Thomas nodded, like he’d expected that. “I loved you,” he said, and the use of the past tense hurt more than it should’ve. 

“I… I loved you, too,” Crowley said, looking down at the floor. “That day I saw you,” he said softly, “I wasn’t- I didn’t plan on talking to you, connecting. I knew I shouldn’t when I was doing it, that it would only end… the way it did. But I did it anyway, and I’m sorry for that.”

Thomas shook his head, putting out his cigarette and standing up, gently bringing his arm up to touch Crowley’s face. “I don’t want to hear your explanations for what happened, your excuses or your deflections about impossible German bars, and I--well, I’ve never been a religious man, and I don’t know if you’re my guardian angel or a normal person wrapped up in a funny series of coincidences, but whatever you are, whoever you are, Crowley, don’t be sorry.” He brushed a hand through Crowley’s hair, like he used to, and Crowley leaned into the touch. “I think you saved my life by showing up when you did. So there’s nothing to be sorry for.”

Crowley blinked, tears spilling from his eyes. “You’ll be alright, won’t you?” He asked softly, and Thomas smiled at him. 

“I’ll be alright,” Thomas confirmed. He leaned forward a few inches and kissed him gently. “And so will you.”

Crowley managed a smile, nodding once in confirmation. “Of course. Yeah. Of course I will.”

********

While Crowley would never admit it (not that he had anyone to admit it to), he checked up on Thomas every once in a while, once every few years or so, just to make sure he was doing alright. And he was. He’d grown since Crowley first met him, making friends and meeting more people like him, finding happiness for himself, that sort of thing. 

And Thomas would never admit it (not that he had anyone to admit it to), but he could feel Crowley’s presence, watching over him, like his guardian angel. Some sort of ethereal, heavenly being sent to take care of him, to give him happiness and safety in a world that seemed to want him dead.

If only he knew the irony that thought held. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _But I know we’ll meet again some sunny day_

**Author's Note:**

> [Twitter](https://twitter.com/kaijuvenom)  
> [Tumblr](https://kaijuvenom.tumblr.com/)  
> okay byeeeeee


End file.
